


dotted my t's and crossed my eyes, signing my name next to yours

by kousenjuu



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, M/M, Meet-Cute, No beta we die like mne, One Shot, SakuAtsu Fluff Week 2021, background osasuna - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 03:40:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29378652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kousenjuu/pseuds/kousenjuu
Summary: Atsumu signs up to be group partners with Kiyoomi on class day 2 because he doesn’t want to be stuck doing all the work on this dumb thing and that handsome asshole in the corner at least had some intelligent things to say unlike everyone else.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 17
Kudos: 71
Collections: SakuAtsu Fluff Week 2021





	dotted my t's and crossed my eyes, signing my name next to yours

**Author's Note:**

> i know some of y'all have read the first half of this on my twitter, but i edited it and added some things so you can just read from the beginning as a little refresher. i hope the rest of this fic holds up to your expectations!

It’s some dumb literature gen ed class and Atsumu is surrounded by even dumber classmates: kids who are just there to drink or fuck around on their parents’ money.

Having to pick group partners so early on without much to gauge his classmates on really forces Atsumu to go out of his comfort zone. He doesn’t want to do this whole project on his own—he had to do that on a lab report last semester and it was the worst experience he’d ever had—so he’s trying to play it safe this time.

Even if “safe” means signing his name under one “Sakusa Kiyoomi,” the tall, slouchy guy whose face Atsumu has never actually seen because he always wears masks. Sure, the biology student radiates big Don’t-Come-Near-Me-You-Filthy-Heathens energy and doesn’t talk much in class except to scorn his classmates’ dumb opinions on some poem they’re going over (rightfully so, their classmates are the lowest of the low—most only show up to class because attendance is required and barely participate except for sharing their mediocre, superficial observations), but at least it’s better than pairing up with some useless business student.

Atsumu partners up with him, because hey, Sakusa might be an asshole, but he’s a bio student, so that’s gotta mean he’s smart and capable of doing his share of group work, right? Plus, maybe they’ll get along—Atsumu is a human phys major, anyhow.

So when it’s his turn to sign up, Atsumu writes his name down with a flourish, completely unaware he’s just signed his whole life away to the sour, possible germaphobe that sits in the corner of class.

Atsumu sits back down at his desk as their teacher goes over their project again, but this time, he sneaks a couple glances over in Sakusa’s direction.

The dark-haired man has the same annoyed, unamused look in his eyes as he listens. Atsumu catches the slight eye roll, though, as the teacher goes over the importance of starting the project _before_ the day before, It’s a Group Project and Working Together is part of it, part of The College Experience, their teacher drones.

It makes Atsumu smile for some reason, catching an expression other than bored distaste on Sakusa’s face. He smiles and goes back to doodling in the margin of his notebook, sketching up the conversation he’ll have to have at the end of class with Sakusa, asking for his number and scheduling a time to meet up.

(It doesn’t go as planned.)

When Atsumu struts over to Sakusa with his best grin—not too douchy but not too kind, his favorite one—the other meets his gaze once, scribbles down his student email address on a scrap of paper, hands it to Atsumu, and leaves without another word.

Atsumu blinks, staring after that hunched back as it strides quickly away from him and out of the classroom.

What the hell?

The next few times he tries to interact go the same way: minimal conversation—“I’m free after two on Thursdays and Fridays,” barely even a glance in Atsumu’s direction, and the most palpable disgust Atsumu has ever faced. He hasn’t even said a goddamn word to the guy!

So Atsumu seethes. He goes back to his dorm and rants to Osamu about “the condescending asshole” he got stuck on a project with.

(“Didn’t ya sign up on yer own?” / “Shaddup Samu that’s not the point!”)

He whines to his college volleyball team group chat about how group projects should be illegal—his grade should not be dependent on anyone else.

(“Just do your part and if the other person doesn’t do theirs, throw them under the bus,” his vice-captain chirps. / “It’s a lit class, it can’t be THAT bad,” Atsumu can practically feel the eye roll from their middle blocker. / “I hope everything works out! Ya never know— maybe ya will click once ya start talkin’!” lots of thumbs up and smiley emoji’s bombard him from their lefty opposite hitter.)

But that’s not the point—Atsumu can’t even seem to get a word in, let alone hold a conversation with the guy!

The first time they meet up to work on the project, they sit six feet apart and dutifully outline their respective powerpoint slides in silence. Silence!! Who the hell works on a project together in silence?!

Atsumu has almost had enough of this bullshit when their phones go off at the same time. He glances at the text, it’s his captain, pinging the group chat with a reminder of their team meeting tonight before practice. Atsumu types out his response (a bunch of okay hand emojis) and as it sends, Sakusa’s phone buzzes again. This time, the other swipes open his phone and wrinkles his nose at whatever he’s looking at.

“You could stand to use less emojis,” he says, monotone.

His words confuse Atsumu, filing in one ear and marching out the other, and he sits there uncomprehending for a couple seconds. Then it clicks. Atsumu does a double-take. He really hopes Sakusa hasn’t been in the group chat since the beginning of the semester, but there's no reason he wouldn’t be, and that makes Atsumu blanch. _He complained about Sakusa right in front of him. God have mercy on his poor, stupid soul._

“Ya mean yer on the volleyball team, Omi-kun?! How come I haven’t seen ya around?”

“I had to have a couple doctors appointments before they let me play. And don’t call me that.”

“Whaaaat!” Atsumu scooches closer to Sakusa, just inside of the range he’s come to know as Sakusa’s personal space bubble, and pushes past the embarrassment of his past mistakes that threatens to light up his face. “What position do ya play? Ya gonna be at practice tonight? Wanna ride the bus together?”

Atsumu is grasping at straws here. He’s trying to be friendly, and now fate has thrown him a bone; he’s tired of the silent treatment Sakusa’s been giving him, maybe this is his leg up.

This is the first time they’ve exchanged more than 10 words, after all, and never before has it been non-class-related, so excuse him for getting a little too excited.

Sakusa just fixes him with a blank stare and deadpans, “I don’t take the bus. Public transport is disgusting. Who knows what kinds of shit sloughs off gross college kids without proper hygiene routines. I drive.”

Ohhhhhhkay then. Didn’t have to be so rude about it. Atsumu’s smile falters, but he tries not to let Sakusa’s blunt words get to him. Not only are they partners, but they’re teammates, now. He’s gotta be civil. Besides, Sakusa’s not exactly wrong…

“Ahhh I gotcha, buses ain’t for everyone. Though they’re not as bad as ya might think. As long as it’s not Thursday-Sunday, they’re kept pretty clean. But dang, must be nice not havin’ to rely on a bus schedule and just drive places yourself. Speaking of which,” he checks the bus app on his phone, “I’ve gotta catch the next Red Route. I’ll uh, see ya at practice then, Omi-Omi!”

He gathers his stuff and takes off without another word, not even looking the other in the eye.

Only when he’s halfway to the bus stop and a good ways away from the library does Atsumu let out the groan he’s been holding in.

Head in his hands, he calls Osamu right there, in the middle of the sidewalk.  
  
“‘M busy Tsumu,” his brother picks up on the fifth ring.

“Samuuuuu!!!! This sucks!!!!! Omi-kun plays volleyball!” he cries, barreling onward because he knows that Osamu’s not busy, he’s just hanging out with Sunarin because it’s a Friday and the two of them don’t have afternoon classes. They’re probably just sucking face, and interrupting a make-out session does not faze Atsumu in the slightest because he has a Problem.

“I fail to see how that sucks,” his twin’s annoyed voice crackles through his speaker.

“Omi plays volleyball on MY team, Samu! Why wouldn’t that suck?”

“Isn’t that a good thing? Ya said ya were havin’ trouble gettin’ to know the guy, and now ya play on the same team. Bam. There ya go. Yer teammates and partners, and ya said he was at least diligent at gettin’ things done, so what’s the issue?”

Atsumu whines, “Samu~ ya heartless bastard. I’m just tryin’a get an A, not make enemies.” His brother scoffs at that, but Atsumu continues, “I haven’t done anythin’ and Omi definitely hates me. I tried bein’ friendly earlier and invited him to go to practice together, but he just went off about how gross college students were and how he’d never step food on a public bus and-”

“I mean, ya are kinda gross, Tsumu.”

“Samu!! ‘S not the point! And _I am not!_ I’ve always been way less of a slob than you, asshole!”

“Anyway. I gotta go. Ya interrupted my date. Good luck with yer new teammate.”

Osamu hangs up before Atsumu can even begin to protest.

“That fuckin’ jerk!” He glares down at the end call screen blinking on his phone. “I wasn’t even done talkin’ and—”

Atsumu is cut off by the sharp HONK of a car horn. He looks up to find a black Mercedes stopped on the other side of the street with its passenger window rolled down.

“Uh. I can give you a ride to practice… If you want.”

It’s Sakusa. Driving an expensive car that looks brand new with how well-kept it is. 

“That was… Your bus just left, right? And you’ll be late if you have to walk all the way to the gym.”

Atsumu stares. Sakusa Kiyoomi, the guy that just got done curling his lip in disgust at the thought of Atsumu taking the bus to the gym (or at least Atsumu assumed he was, he’d still yet to see Sakusa’s whole face), is offering him a ride?

And wait— he missed his bus?! Atsumu whips around and watches the retreating back of the bus that he did, indeed, miss. He must have been so into complaining to Osamu that he didn’t even notice it pull up.

But no, that’s the least of his problems. This has gotta be some kind of sick joke, right? Sakusa hates him. He’s probably just wasting Atsumu’s time by stopping him here, offering a helping hand that he’s going to yank away right as Atsumu reaches for it. 

Said cruel man is decidedly staring down the road in front of him, dark curls hiding half the face that’s visible so Atsumu can’t even begin to read his expression. But… Is that a blush peeking out over the edge of his black face mask? Are his pale ears a bit reddened at the tips? Or is it just a trick of the light?

Atsumu barely has a second to gape before Sakusa is looking over at him again, expression cold and composed as usual.

“Well?”

“Ahh… Yeah, sure! Thanks Omi-kun, yer a real lifesaver!” Atsumu splutters out, hoping his smile isn’t too embarrassed, and hurries over to the car.

Once inside, Atsumu makes sure to keep his touches to the minimum. He settles against the leather seat smelling of disinfectant and clutches his duffel bag tightly on his lap. He hopes his shoes aren’t too dirty and anxiously wonders if he should’ve just refused the ride. He brushed his teeth after his lunch with one of his friends but maybe his breath still carries some of the mustard and onion from his sandwich from earlier. Maybe Atsumu IS gross. He peaks over at Sakusa.

Dark eyes remain trained on the road, but there’s a bit of never-before-seen _something_ in them. Mischief, maybe. Amusement, perhaps.

“I’m not going to spray you with alcohol if you breathe, Miya.”

Atsumu laughs weakly, trying in vain to disguise the breath he was exhaling. “I wouldn’t be offended if ya did, Omi-Omi, ‘s long as ya warn me so I can close my eyes an’ hold my breath.”

Ah. Sakusa rolls his eyes at Atsumu’s comment. Atsumu mentally counts that as a win and relaxes a bit against the seat, turning his gaze out the window, nervous smile slipping into something more genuine.

Maybe his partner isn’t so bad. A little cold on the outside, but they had been complete strangers before this. Not everyone is as outgoing and friendly as Atsumu, and he knows that. “To each his own” and everything.

They’ve been working on this project for the better part of two weeks, at this point. Despite sharing little actual conversation, Atsumu likes to think they are at least a bit more comfortable around each other, now. Maybe a bit past “acquaintances” and approaching “friends,” though “friendly classmates” is probably more accurate.

Atsumu hopes so, at least. He doesn’t want to have any unnecessary beef with his new team and he also doesn’t want to have to retake a gen ed because he didn’t get along with his group project partner. And besides, Sakusa offered him a ride of his own accord, that’s gotta mean something, right?

“We’re here.”

Sakusa’s low voice pulls Atsumu out of his jumbled thoughts. The dark-haired man turns the car off and opens his door, moving to open the back door to grab his bag.

Atsumu hops up, careful not to scuff any of the immaculate plastic or leather of the inside of the car as he opens his door and stands up.

“Thanks for the ride, Omi-Omi!” He grins, shrugging his bag over his shoulder, “I’ll introduce ya to the team—some of em are weird but they’re great at what they do. Makimaki is a slob, though, so ya might wanna steer clear of him. But oh— ya gotta meet Koushi-kun, he’s a charm! And Tettsun is the best middle blocker around—”

Atsumu rattles on and on as they walk into the gym together.

He completely misses the way Sakusa’s eyes turn up at the edges as they watch a cute, bleached-blonde excitedly ramble on about their teammates.

In Sakusa’s pocket, his phone buzzes.

From: Komori Motoya  
To: You  
“How’s your crush?????? 👀👀👀👀👀👀👀”  


* * *

They continue working on their project as usual, Sakusa joins their practices for good, having received the go-ahead from his doctor, but somewhere, somehow, things have changed. Just barely. 

It’s just noticeable to the outside eye, but Atsumu is still blind to the way their work meetups have become 90% them talking, 10% actual work (90% Atsumu talking and Sakusa putting up with it and maybe smiling a bit or giving his own snarky input to the stupid things Atsumu has to say) or how them going to practice together has become more of a habit than an event. 

It’s second nature to wait for each other after their last classes and head to Sakusa’s car together, and Atsumu always makes sure to stop by the bathroom and wash his hands well even though they have a ritual of squeezing hand sanitizer into each others’ hands after they close the car doors. 

Atsumu _does_ notice a few other things though: How the dark-haired boy has completely given in to the cute nicknames Atsumu throws around, or how Atsumu purposefully keeps a new pouch in his bag with Omi’s favorite sanitizing wipes and hand sanitizer and spare masks and gloves- just in case, you know. 

He notices how Omi has a specific taste for the sour--umeboshi and sour candies (Omi can eat Warheads without batting an eye and Atsumu just doesn’t understand because lemon Warheads are the fucking worst??? How is this man still alive?? How does he still have taste buds?) and how he carries around one of those huge, 1-liter water bottles and always goes through at least two of them throughout the day. 

Omi uses one pen and one notebook for all his schoolwork; somehow, he never loses either and his notes are very well organized and articulate. (Atsumu doesn’t get how this works because he’s always losing his pens and misplacing his little moleskine notebooks.) 

He hates when Atsumu doodles in the lone notebook too, always snapping at Atsumu when he gets back from the bathroom. He’ll snatch the thing from Atsumu’s hands and harp at him for the little chibi drawings Atsumu loves to fill in his margins with. (Atsumu continues to do it because, though Omi yells at him for it, there’s never much bite to his words.)

Atsumu notices all the things he does for Omi, all the little new things he learns about his project partner and fellow varsity starting lineup, outside hitter, but he doesn’t notice perhaps the most important one of all.

How easy it is, being with Omi. How they fit together like two pieces of those stupid friendship charms Atsumu used to tease his high school girlfriends about. How Omi has become a part of his college life, slipping into his life like he belongs there.

How hard and fast and all-in he’s fallen for Sakusa Kiyoomi (18), biology major, 191cm of bendy wrists and a killer serve spin and sullen eyes and merciless scoffs and—

Atsumu doesn’t notice until he’s running late for their lit class, on the day of their presentation, cursing himself for putting off his human phys paper until the last minute and pulling an all-nighter to finish it the day it was their turn to lead their class through the four chapters they were supposed to read. 

He didn’t even notice the time until the sun was shining in his eyes as he was staring at the submission page for his paper in triumph and the clock read 1:23pm and—

Oh shit, his class was in 7 minutes, and it was clear across campus, and even more importantly: _oh fuck Omi’s gonna be so pissed if I’m late._

He grabs his stuff, stuffs it in his bag, fingers hastily typing out an apology email to his partner (because that’s still the only form of communication they’ve had for the last two months. Atsumu never pushes farther because it just kinda seems rude and they’ve made such progress becoming friends! He doesn’t want to ruin it!).

Sprinting across campus, Atsumu is suddenly very thankful he’s a college athlete because it only takes him 5 minutes to traverse the entirety of campus rather than the average 10.

Still, he’s not early, and he slips through the door to class just as his phone screen reads 1:30. Omi is glaring daggers at him from his position at the front of the class beside the projector screen, but Atsumu is too busy trying to catch his breath to care. 

He drops his stuff at his desk and saunters over to stand behind the podium next to his partner, acting nonchalant and totally not like he’s running on only four hours of sleep from _two days ago_ and didn’t just bust his ass to the English and Philosophy Building for class.

Yeah. He’s got this. Totally.

“What the fuck?” Omi hisses at him, a bit muffled through his mask, once they’ve given their opening presentation and have provided the class with some questions for them to discuss in their small groups.

“Ah… well…” Atsumu grins weakly, running a hand through his still wind-ruffled hair, “Ya see, Omi-Omi, I may have had a paper due today at noon and I also may have forgotten it existed until last night at like 10, so I may have stayed up all night finishin’ it.”  
  
“You overslept?!” The scandalized look in Omi’s eyes is so withering, Atsumu’s feelings are almost hurt. 

“What? No way!" Atsumu defends, "I’m a better student than that, Omi-kun! I stayed up. Didn’t sleep. All-nighter. Ya know the drill.” He waves his hand dismissively and nods at the timer they set, abruptly ending their conversation in hopes of not having to listen to Omi judge his bad decisions.

“'Aight guys, what’d ya come up with?” Atsumu turns towards the low roar that’s started building that signals their groups have run out of things to discuss and are now simply talking amongst themselves. "Yay or nay on the Doc, himself?"

In the next bit of their presentation, Atsumu forgets what words he was going to say, and Omi jumps in to cover him. The action is smooth and calculated, as if the dark-haired man knew this was going to happen and was prepared for it. Afterwards, Atsumu’s sheepish, apologetic smile is met with an wholly unimpressed look.

“What was it about?” Asks Omi, as he scans the room to make sure everyone's doing what they asked.

Atsumu blinks, tilts his head, confused. “What was what about?"

“Your paper.” Omi looks at him like he’s dumb. Fair. He is, a bit.

“Ohhhh… Bees.”

“I’m sorry, what?” 

Atsumu must really be sleep-deprived because today, every expression from Omi seems like a new one, and they each pull him in and tickle the back of his throat. But giggling would be totally inappropriate right now. And… If he started, Atsumu is not sure he’d be able to stop.

“My paper. ‘S about bees. Well, about how this type of honey bee, _Apis cerana japonica_ , kills intruders into their hive. It’s pretty awesome Omi-Omi—a hornet will fly in ready to kill a bunch ‘a ‘defenseless honeybees’ and take over their hive, but the thing that sets ‘em apart from other species of bees is that they actually can coordinate against such attackers. They'll gather around the hornet until they form a ball around it, and then, they’ll vibrate their flight muscles—that’s really cool on it’s own but that’s a whole other topic— and so it’ll raise the temp inside the ball to like 46°C! The bees can stand up to 50°C, but not hornets, so the hornet just gets fried as things get too hot and all the heat sucks out the oxygen and they can’t breathe anymore!”

Atsumu’s eyes are alight with interest and excitement, and he’s totally engrossed in telling Omi about his paper on predator defense mechanisms that he misses the besotted look flickering in Omi’s dark eyes, the small smile hidden behind the polypropylene of his mask.

“‘S really awesome Omi, betcha never expected some cute 'lil honeybees could take down a nasty hornet!”

Omi huffs and rolls his eyes (he’s impressed and interested but Atsumu doesn’t need to know that). 

“Let’s just get this done.”

They finish their presentation with relative ease, easily maneuvering their way through the last of their discussion questions and setting the class up for next week’s reading like they’re supposed to. 

Atsumu is relieved, he can feel himself fading fast—the adrenaline rush from running late is long gone and it takes all his nonexistent energy to keep his eyes open. He just wants to run home for a quick nap before practice today, but he grabs his stuff and waits for Omi at the door because they walk to their next classes together. Another unspoken routine the two of them have adapted.

Atsumu is rambling about something menial, cracking up over his own jokes as they slink downstairs, allowing the flow of the crowd of students to direct them, because he feels like if he stops talking, he’ll pass out here and now. Though they’re heads taller than the rest of the sea of students around them, he sways a bit on his feet and tries to fend off the exhaustion with will alone. It’s only when Omi tugs on the edge of his shirt that Atsumu stops and actually looks at the other man.

Omi usually sits in comfortable silence and leaves Atsumu to do the talking, nodding and humming in acknowledgement of his words, so it’s not a surprise that he hasn’t said anything during their trip down the stairs and out the side door of the building.

What is a surprise, however, is the look on Omi’s face when he pulls Atsumu over to the side of the building, out of the way of people coming and going.

There’s a nervous look to his pretty, ebony eyes— they waver, refusing to look Atsumu in the face, darting around and never staying in one place too long. There’s a faint blush to his cheeks, Atsumu is sure of it this time— they shine just barely pink over the edge of his mask and his ears are red at the tips. But Omi’s voice is steady when he asks:

“Can I borrow your pen?”

Atsumu stares at him, speechless at the anticlimactic question. He tilts his head and wonders _what the hell??_ as he digs into his pocket and wordlessly passes Omi a blue pen.

Then Omi does something that surprises Atsumu even more. He reaches for and grabs the hand that’s holding the strap of the duffle slung over his shoulder. He clicks the pen open and leans down to press the ball point to the skin of Atsumu’s hand, just above his wrist. He writes:

“090-XXXX-XXXX” and then, after a beat, he adds the kanji of his name, five meticulously signed characters, dark against the light flesh of the back of Atsumu’s hand.

Omi steps back, dropping his light grasp around Atsumu’s hand, clears his throat, and offers the pen back.

Atsumu gapes at his hand.

“… Um. If you… want to hang out sometime. Outside of practice. Let me… know?” Omi’s voice turns up at the end and he hazards a glance over at Atsumu, for the first time since this exchange.

Atsumu locks onto those onyx eyes and beams, blinding in the late afternoon light. His fatigue and spinning head are completely forgotten, happily muffled by the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears and the way Omi looks right now, at 2:37pm on a Wednesday in early October, in his black sweater and equally dark jeans, the collar of his white shirt neatly folded over the neckline: shy and reticent but simultaneously incredibly honest and unguarded. 

A soft breeze ruffles through the trees around them and Atsumu can feel it fluff his blonde hair up. It blows a curl loose from Omi’s usually immaculate coiffure and Atsumu reaches his newly inked hand out, brushing the curl out of Omi’s eyes.

“I’d love to hang out with ya, Omi,” he can’t reign in his smile, but he doesn’t want to, either. “Ya don’t have class until 10 tomorrow, right? Wanna get breakfast?”

Atsumu watches as Omi blinks hastily, not having expected an invitation so soon and scrambling to come up with an answer, but he doesn’t flinch away as Atsumu’s fingertips linger in his hair and ghost down his cheek.

That’s an answer all on its own.

“Uh.”

Atsumu laughs, no, it’s closer to a giggle, now. “Omi-Omi, ya just gave me yer number all suave and cool, but when I ask ya out in turn, ya get all nervous? What, ya fallin’ for me all over again?”

He teases, but Atsumu’s just as flustered because he’s realized that oh no, he’s in too deep. Omi’s too cute, too pretty, too lovely. Atsumu wants him, wants him now, forever, always. His heart is beating wildly, trying to escape the confines of his chest, ready to burst out of his slightly wrinkled white t-shirt and splatter down the front of the plaid shirt he threw on in his rush out the door. It’s all Atsumu can do to keep his laidback act up, to lean back onto one hip and smile gently, to respect the boy in front of him and not pull down that mask and kiss him silly. 

Well. Maybe that would be welcome. But Atsumu’s not trying to push too far, he’s eager and hyped up on the fact that He Just Got Omi’s Number (no, Omi GAVE Him His Number) but Atsumu pushes all that down, urging himself to chill, because they’ll get there. In time. No need to rush.

Omi flushes even deeper and now it’s obvious he’s definitely embarrassed, “I— yeah.” He furrows his brow, “Yes. I’d like that. A lot.”

And they continue on their way. Quiet blankets their shoulders as they walk back towards the center of campus, but it’s nice. They’re both too excited and flustered to say anything more than a quick “See ya later” as they part ways, but it’s fine. They have all the time in the world now.

Atsumu unlocks the door to his dorm, flings himself onto his bed, buries his face in his pillow, and _shrieks._

Then, he fumbles for his pocket.

He pulls his phone out and stares at the number scrawled onto the back of his hand, the name next to it, and has to slam his face down again to muffle another scream. He cannot BELIEVE this turn of events.

Taping the number into his phone, he sends a quick text.

From: You  
To: Omi-Omi 🤩💖  
“lookin forward to our date, omi-omi <3”  


(He regrets the heart as soon as he hits send, but it’s too late and he has to stuff his head into his pillow again, face absolutely burning up in embarrassment.)

Osamu comes back to their dorm room to find Atsumu flailing around on his bed, heavy metal music blasting through the tinny speaker of his phone, alternating between cursing incoherently into his pillow and punching the poor thing.

From: You  
To: Komori Motoya  
IMG_639  
(screenshot of Atsumu’s message)  


**Author's Note:**

> small detail, but in true college Mess fashion, atsumu's paper is due at noon, he pulls an all-nighter to finish it, and still turns it in an hour late. i both love and fear that man.
> 
> the book they're discussing is Watchmen and this whole thing is based on a true story. (even the conversation about bees) like. this is legit how i met my husband. it's ridiculous and stupid and definitely something that would happen to atsumu.
> 
> anyway, come scream at me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/reeeeiiiiigun)


End file.
